I start off the day in a rumpled shirt of one kind or another and my schlumpy sweats. My sweats didn’t used to be so schlumpy, I think at one point they actually started off life as “activewear” (or maybe “loungewear” I have trouble telling the two apart) and they were pretty spiffy, comfy and yet somehow slightly tailored-looking. I loved ‘em. I still love them, even though I loved them so much I wore them throughout my pregnancy and now the butt is all stretched out and they’re not so tailored-looking anymore. Still comfy though, but definitely schlumpy.
Anyhoo, I start off the day in my sweats and t-shirts and feeling a bit of the baby grime built up from the day before and for the first couple of hours of the day (or minutes, depending if I manage to wake my butt up before the baby and can therefore snag an early shower) I’m hating the schlumpy feeling. I feel slobby, I feel gamey, I mayhap feel crusty spots on my sweats I didn’t notice getting deposited the night before. I feel like appendages or hair or boobs that were behaving nicely previously are now sticking out every which way in a display (but you know it’s not really their fault as it’s the sticky grime making everything stand on end so there’s no point in haranguing the misbehaving appendages or anything). Simply put, I can’t wait to get in the shower.
And then I DO get a shower and I put on my nice clean clothes and I do my skin regimen and I put on a bit of lipstick and powder and I put on cute shoes and THEN… then I feel great. Put together. Capable. Non-sticky.
But by the end of the day a strange thing happens… somewhere along the way, somewhen usually beginning about, oh, 8:00ish, regardless of the fact that I felt great all day long, I suddenly CANNOT WAIT to get back in my sweats.
So I did a little calculation. On a good day, if I get up and in the shower by 7:30am and I claw my way out of my clothes by 8:00pm, that is roughly 12 hours that I spend dressed nicely. On a really bad day I may not get in the shower until noon (baby’s naptime – though usually I can slip into the shower earlier if he’s watching Sesame Street), so that’s about eight hours dressed. All in all, that means I spend one half to two thirds of my life in my schlumpy state. An ever-cycling existence revolving around a pair of crusty sweatpants with a stretched-out butt. The day begins, the day ends. The sun rises and sets. I wear my sweats. (ooh, haiku!)
I think this is a metaphor of some kind, but I just find it a little disheartening. Though comfy. Very comfy. Funny how existentialism gets ya that way.
And people wonder why I shop. (Rage, rage against the coming of the night…or the schlumpy sweatpants… whatever.)
This deep, philosophical discourse was brought to you by the weirdgirl.